Page 9 of Meet Mason, the Billionaire

After the shower I slipped into a pair of nice slacks and a button-up ivory shirt, because Cheddar had a dress code. The whole ride there, I wasn’t even looking forward to it. I didn’t want to hang out with a couple of Norwegian twins. I wanted to see Megan again.

I had her number. I could call her, but… the dreaded Three Day Rule.

It’s a major sin, a big strike against you in the Man Code if you call a woman before waiting three days. For one thing, you’re going to look desperate, or so conventional wisdom says. For another, you need time to come down from the ‘high’ of a really great hookup. Again, so says conventional wisdom.

I was starting to get bored with conventional wisdom. I wanted to call her.

“Hey, keep the meter running a second,” I said when we pulled up outside the club. “I need to make a quick phone call.”

“It’s your dime, sir,” said the driver.

I called up Stan, but he didn’t answer. Finally I gave up and texted.

Of course, that prick answered right away. Does anybody answer their damn phone anymore?

Dude, what do you mean you aren’t coming?

I texted back.

I’ve got a lot on my mind, and I had a late night and an early morning.

Bullshit. This is about that chick you met, Maura.

Megan.

What the fuck ever. It’s your funeral. Just don’t be stupid and call her before waiting for three days first.

I sighed. “Driver, take me back home.”

“Just out for a joyride, pal?”

“Something like that,” I said with a chuckle. “I do like to watch the city at night.”

I stared at my phone, and then jabbed my finger on the call button.

Fuck it. I’m calling her. I just need to hear her voice. Guess Stan’s right. I’ve got it bad.

Chapter Five

Megan

The surrealist New York landscape had only just begun to take shape on my reclaimed canvas when my phone rang. Specifically, it playedFaithby George Michael.

The exact ring tone I’d given to Mason’s number, on the off chance he would call.

“No fucking way,” I murmured, wiping my hands on a stained rag so I could safely touch my phone. “It hasn’t been three days yet.”

I answered the call, putting it to my ear, fearing a prank. “Hello?”

“Megan?”

It was his voice, those velvety rich baritones were like music. My heart thudded a rapid beat in my chest. I was trying to play it cool, but on the inside I was screaminghe called me he called ME.

“Megan it is,” I said. “Is this Mason?”

“Mason it is, Megan-it-is.”

“Well, Mason-it-is, aren’t you worried about the unwritten three-day rule?”

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